


Save Ourselves

by Kangoo



Series: Miscellaneous Warcraft Stuff [5]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: 'refusal of the gift' gave me feelings, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, M/M, to which my usual response is: more kael'thas, very short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 15:04:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12171279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangoo/pseuds/Kangoo
Summary: Illidan refuses Xe'ra's gift





	Save Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> ??? idk, fuck xe'ra i guess
> 
> unbeta'd, not proofread, you know the drill

Xe’ra — blinding and resplendissant — dissolves into shards of light that rain over the assembled warriors. The magic thrumming in the air disappear at once, like the tension before a storm broken by lightning, and Illidan falls to the ground. He tries to catch himself but there is no strength left in his body to hold himself upright.

He lays there, panting heavily, for a few second. It’s all it takes for Turalyon to find his bearings. Illidan doesn’t have the same luck: the paladin is running at him, sword drown, before he can shake off what remains of the Naaru’s influence in his mind.

“You’ve doomed us all!” He screams, so painfully sure of his words it hurts to hear. “Betrayer!”

He says it like it’s an insult, like it hasn’t been his name for longer than he ever was just ‘Illidan’. Like he doesn’t wear it with pride, those days.

Illidan stops the sword and barely registers the way it cuts the palm of his hand, even when fel-green blood drips down his wrist and to the ground. He holds Turalyon’s hateful gaze, still faintly shimmering with Naaru-gold, and says, “Your faith has blinded you.”

Try as he might, the Paladin can do nothing against him, even in his weakened state. He does try, though, pushing his sword down like his measly human strength could overpower Illidan’s demonic abilities.

“There can be no chosen one,” Illidan continues, barring his needle-sharp teeth in the mockery of a smile. “Only we can serve ourselves.”

He tugs on the blade and tears it out of Turalyon’s grasp before throwing it on the ground with a disgusted snarl. Turalyon backs down one, two steps, and falls to his knees.

The human’s crisis of faith isn’t Illidan’s problem. The Legion is still planning their demise as they talk and now that the Naarus are a no-go, he has work to do if he hopes to compensate for the loss of such powerful allies. He takes a deep, rattling breath — everything still burns faintly with the touch of the Light — and tries to get up.

A hand lightly touches his shoulder, fingers barely brushing against his skin in a silent question. He lifts his head. There, half-bending over him, stands a hooded figure. He has the build of an elven man, recognizable despite the way his whole body is covered head to toes with a deep-red cloak. Turalyon seems surprised to see him, like he hadn’t noticed his presence before.

The man’s face is cast in shadows by the hood but Illidan can see the grim turn of his mouth and soft arcane glow of his eyes from where he is. He sighs and takes the offered hand. The man helps him up without trouble and Illidan leans on him for support for a moment, until he is sure he can stands upright without stumbling. He nods in thanks and the man smiles briefly.

They walk away without a glance to the others. They don’t go very far; just enough for their words to go unheard and their actions unseen.

Here, hidden from prying eyes, Kael’thas lets his hood falls and trails careful hands down Illidan’s shoulders, overs his glowing tattoos and bandaged arms. His touch is precise more than it is affectionate as he looks for any physical wounds the Naaru’s treatment might have left. Illidan is sure that, were he to find the slightest scratch, he would go back and raise Xe’ra from the dead in the sole goal of destroying her himself.

Fortunately for his mage, the only injury he retained from the ordeal comes from Turalyon’s misguided attack. There is nothing to be done about it: Kael’thas never was much of a healer, and the magic coursing through Illidan’s veins will make sure there is nothing but a scar left by tomorrow morning. Still, he holds the hand to his lips and presses a feather-light kiss at the edge of the gash, something like resentment darkening his eyes.

This done, Kael’thas turns his attention to his face instead. He cradles it between his slender hands and brushes his thumbs over Illidan’s cheekbones, under his eyes, looking at him with concern. The Naaru hasn’t left any physical mark but he feels sick and restless; he can still feel Xe’ra hold around him, leaving him breathless and frozen by instinctual, primordial fear. His skin itches and burns, his bones ache, everything feels just a little bit wrong; he’s shivering but he feels too hot, clammy and cold all at once.

Kael’thas sees all of this just by looking at him for a handful of seconds, unbothered by his expressionless face. Grief and rage flashes in his eyes in equal measure and he closes them with a deep sigh. His hands falls from Illidan’s face slowly, trailing down his cheek, his neck, lower and lower until he can loop his arms around Illidan’s chest, his fingertips against the base of his wings. Kael’thas lets his head tips forward and hides his face against Illidan, at the junction between neck and shoulder.

He doesn’t say sorry, although it’s all he hears in his mind. There was nothing to be done, especially not by him and his weakened magic. Still he wishes he could have helped then and tries, as best as he can, to help now — a wordless presence to silence the voices in Illidan’s head that repeat betrayer like a curse and tell him he should have accepted the offer for what it was: power for freedom, a solution against the Legion, a boon.

Maybe he’s selfish for refusing to give up what he fought so hard to gain but there are still days when he wakes up with Kil’jaeden’s claws still digging in his chest from his nightmares and he’s not eager to add another master to his night terrors.

Maybe he’s selfish for choosing the fate of his sanity over that of the world but Kael’thas doesn’t find it in himself to mind.

They are alive and together, they will be victorious, one way or another. It will do.


End file.
